


Soft-Boiled

by okapi



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masturbation, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spitroasting, Turkish Bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Raffles & Bunny and Holmes & Watson meet at the Turkish Bath. PWP.For 2019 Dick-or-Treat.





	Soft-Boiled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulgarweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/gifts).



I will never know just how Holmes divined the precise nature of my restlessness that evening in late April nor can I hazard a guess as to whether my condition was a product of the wild winds that rattled the panes or the plummeting barometre or some other natural, or unnatural, shift. Nevertheless, I did know, or perhaps better said, I was swift to discover, that my companion was not immune to the mysterious and maddening phenomenon himself.

The hour was very late when Holmes bid me, in a deliciously firm voice, to accompany him. He made no mention of destination, and no sooner was the hansom clip-clopping down Baker Street than he set about tying a swathe of black silk about my head.

At once, I was plunged into a makeshift darkness.

“Blindfold, Holmes?”

“Lean back and lower the brim of your hat,” he said as he raised my muffler. “No one will notice.”

“But why?”

“Quite simply, my dear Watson, because I want you ignorant of where we are going.”

I harrumphed but acquiesced.

We travelled for some time but whether we went in a straight line or in confounding circles, I shall never know, and that was, of course, precisely Holmes’s aim.

“All this just to go to a bath!” I grumbled some time later. “We could’ve just gone to…”

“No, we couldn’t.”

When Holmes chose to be cryptic, he was as tight as an oyster, so I didn’t pry. He suggested a pipe. It was not our custom to begin our visits to the Turkish bath in that manner, we usually left it for the end, but as I mentioned, I was plagued with a curious restlessness and thought that the smoke might do me and my nerves some good.

“Watson?”

There was, as always in such places, an array, of pure tobacco leaf as well as mixtures of leaf and more mind-altering combustibles, to choose from. Holmes’s hand hovered over one, and I had my first inkling of what type of night it was to be.

“Mild, Holmes,” I said sternly. “Very, very mild.” Needless to say, I never enjoyed Holmes’s taste or tolerance for stimulants.

“Of course, just a pinch,” he assured me.

Later I saw him pass what must’ve been quite a sum to one of the attendants, but as I was feeling much more myself or, dare I say it, even more myself than usual, it didn’t even occur to me to wonder why.

After a while, Holmes suggested we move on.

“Steam, Watson?”

“By all means.”

The room was much smaller than usual, and it must have been the tight confines that made the vapour unnaturally thick, indeed, thicker, but purer, of course, than the worst of London’s fogs. The walls were of wet stone and weeping tile in patterns of mosaics. The usual benches lined the perimetre.

There were only two bathers when we arrived.

One man was sitting in a corner, his back propped against the wall, his legs stretched along the bench. I had the impression of thick dark hair, on the head as well as the chest, but the steam was too thick to distinguish any other feature. What I could distinguish was the back of the other man’s head, with hair of a lighter colour, the head, moving up and down, was obscuring the sitting man’s lap.

Finally, the penny dropped.

I shot a look at Holmes.

He returned my gaze with a raised eyebrow.

I gave a nod.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said a low, rumbly voice. “I’m Peter, this is my cousin, Benjamin.”

Benjamin hummed at the mention of his name but did not slow his ministrations.

“I’m Ford, this is Ormond.”

Where Holmes came up with those fantastical names, I cannot fathom, but I made a note to bring the matter up the next time he criticised my penchant for florid prose.

Holmes’s grey-eyes, his pupils black with lust, had settled upon the figure of Benjamin, who was half standing beside and half kneeling upon the bench.

Specifically, I saw that Holmes was ogling, with undisguised lecherousness, Benjamin’s lovely arse.

It was then that I realised Holmes had been experiencing a restlessness akin to my own.

It was plain to me that he wanted to fuck that young man’s arse very badly. And it was equally plain I wanted to watch.

“He’s a naughty little Bunny.”

The arse in question wiggled invitingly, and a hand—a seemingly disembodied hand for the rest of the figure to which it was attached was veiled in steam—pushed a jar of unguent toward the edge of the bench.

Not taking his eyes from mine, Holmes yanked the towel from his waist. Then he turned toward Benjamin.

I settled myself on the bench, my back against the wall opposite, but before Holmes’s prick was even fully sheathed, I was getting up, throwing my towel atop of Holmes’s towel, and helping myself to the unguent.

I re-settled with legs spread wide, and eventually, I was stroking my hard prick in time with Holmes’s thrusts.

“God, that prick, makes my mouth water!”

Peter’s face was hidden in steam, but I shot him a wicked grin and made a bit of a show of my frigging.

Holmes, for his part, was bouncing and beaming like a schoolboy with a special treat. He was clearly enjoying himself. And so was I.

Just what I had needed.

“Hole like a bride but the rest of him is tart,” said Peter.

“How delightful,” replied Holmes. He licked his lips and tightened his grip on the lad’s hips.

We were all dripping with sweat and condensation, all pink and hard and aching and lost in our lust and each other’s bodies.

Peter lifted a leg, and Benjamin slipped an arm under his thigh to keep it aloft.

Then Peter gave a soft sigh of release.

The leg dropped. Benjamin pulled off and looked up. Hands were cradling his head, smoothing his damp hair, and rubbing his cheeks and lips.

“Don’t you like being shared, my rabbit? Three big pricks, stiff and crying for your sweet little rabbit hole?”

Benjamin nodded.

Holmes was still thrusting, but I could tell by irregularity of his rhythm that he was close to finding his release. I was about to follow suit, for though my thoughts had been absorbed in the erotic tableau before me, my hand hadn’t slowed.

But just then, Peter’s low, rumbly voice said,

“Let my bunny. He’s absolutely insatiable.”

The moment I released my grip on my prick, the prickhead and shaft were gobbled up by a very eager mouth, indeed. I have never had cause to complain about Holmes’s methods of oral pleasure, but I confess that Benjamin had the ruthlessness and creativity of a seasoned professional.

I groaned and rested my hands lightly on the lad’s head as he sucked me dry.

Then I saw Holmes, well part of him, at any rate. His legs were extended out along the floor and his hands, those hands that I would recognise anywhere, were gripping Benjamin’s pert buttocks.

It took me a moment to put the pieces together, and in that moment, Holmes’s fingers began to toy with Benjamin’s hole.

I groaned again when I realised Holmes was sucking the lad’s prick just as the lad was sucking mine.

That was all it took.

Benjamin pulled off. I looked down between us, and if I hadn’t just spent myself, I would certainly have done so at the sight of Holmes’s lips being spread again and again by that lovely ruddy shaft.

Holmes’s body was contorted in a highly improbable position but given how often I’d seen him tie himself in knots at crime scenes to collect evidence and perform near acrobatic acts in pursuit of the villainous, I was not surprised that he was able to maintain it.

Benjamin made a noise and twisted at the waist, reaching an arm back.

Peter had left his perch in the corner, and though I could barely make out Benjamin’s profile, his pitiful cries led me to believe that Peter’s tongue was in his arse while Holmes’s mouth was ‘round his prick.

Once again, the thought occurred that if I wasn’t just spent, I would have envied Benjamin enormously and endeavoured to be on receiving end of similar ministrations. It was, in fact, a keen fantasy of mine: two mouths, sucking, licking. Pleasure from both sides. Rocking forward into one, rocking back upon the other. Two men, on their knees, worshiping with lips and tongue. Tirelessly, ceaselessly suckling at my prick and arse.

“Oh, god,” I moaned.

Benjamin’s eyes were pinched shut. He threw his head back and shuddered through a beautiful release, and then the four of us slowly, and somewhat clumsily, disentangled ourselves from one another.

As soon as we had done so, as if on cue, a soft chime rang out.

I reached for my towel, and one by one, we all filed out as the attendant passed inside to tend to the room.

* * *

The showers and the cold pool were welcome discomforts, and I felt my faculties very much restored as I stretched out on one of the reclining chairs and considered the question in Holmes’s eyes.

“Once more,” I said without meeting his gaze.

I sensed, rather than saw, his nod of agreement.

The room was full of steam but empty of patrons when Holmes and I first returned. Holmes took the corner where Peter had sat earlier, but before I could even initiate a reprisal of Benjamin’s act, Holmes, quite unexpectedly, put a finger to his lips.

I hadn’t intended to say anything, nevertheless, I bristled at being shushed.

While I was determining the best method of defiance, Holmes reached up and twisted a small tile. He removed the it then inserted his hand inside the gap in the wall…

…and pulled out a necklace of unparalleled beauty.

Diamonds surrounded what must’ve been rubies of rare size and colour for even in the mute and oddly lit world of the bath, they glowed, deep and rich.

My jaw dropped and the obvious question was on my lips, but Holmes put his finger to his own lips once more and returned jewels and tile to their original places.

I dropped my head and shook it slowly in bewilderment.

What in heavens was it about?

The door opened, and instinctively, I collapsed atop Holmes, my face in his towel-clad lap.

“I’m afraid my companion isn’t as well trained as yours,” said Holmes. “I suppose I spoil him.”

“It’s very easy to do.” It was Peter’s voice.

“We returned because Ormond was very jealous of Benjamin, very jealous, indeed, by the end of our earlier encounter.”

“Oh, yes? Well, there’s a lot to be jealous of. He’ll be with us shortly. He’s enjoying a smoke. But while we’re waiting…”

I put myself in Holmes’s hands, and very soon, my fantasy was being made real.

I stood between them. Holmes was tonguing my arse and Peter was sucking my prick. Holmes knew exactly how to tease me, and Peter’s talents were many. The latter hadn’t the ferocity of his cousin, but his tongue was devilishly sweet.

He was, in short, a tease. And I loved being teased.

I rocked back and forth between the exquisite sensations, and I didn’t censor myself. I moaned and whimpered and let a host other whorish noises escape my lips as I impaled myself on Holmes’s tongue and then curled forward to brush the back of Peter’s throat.

Then the door opened, and Benjamin appeared.

“It’s a soiree!” he cried as he let his towel drop.

Peter pulled off and looked up, a slight frown crinkled his brow. “I believe you’ve had a bit too much, Benjamin,” he growled.

“What’s too much, Raf—uh—I mean—Peter?” taunted Benjamin with a cheeky wink. He threw his hands up in the air and began to twirl in a circle and shake his hips to music that only he could hear.

Even Holmes stopped to stare. And I couldn’t blame him.

Benjamin did have a beautiful little body.

Eventually, Peter and Holmes tore their eyes away from Benjamin’s gyrations and resumed their earlier activities.

I closed my eyes and rested a hand on either head.

Benjamin began to hum.

Four hands were on my hips as my body tensed, then jerked.

Peter pulled off and spit into one of the discarded towels.

“Wheee!” cried Benjamin.

I gasped.

He was wearing the necklace! And a pair of matching diamond-and-ruby earrings!

Peter got to his feet, and when he spoke, his voice was cold as steel.

“You’re a very bad Bunny.”

“No, I’m not!” retorted Benjamin, with a pout. “I’m a pretty Bunny.” He danced in a circle, swinging his head back and forth. “I’m a queen!”

Peter caught him by shoulders and shook him.

I looked away as they exchanged stares, Peter’s angry, Benjamin’s glassy.

Holmes stood at once, and the steam itself seemed charged with unspoken emotion and danger as he drew me a few steps away and put his body between me and the other pair.

“You’re right,” said Peter finally, the hardness gone from his tone. “You are a pretty Bunny.”

He ran caressing hands along Benjamin’s shoulders and upper arms and chest and played with his nipples.

Benjamin softened. Then he wiggled his arse and batted his eyelashes and said impishly,

“My tail’s awfully twitchy.”

* * *

They took turns with him.

Benjamin was bent over, hands on the bench. I watched, fairly hypnotised, as the necklace and earrings swung in counterpoint to the many thrusts.

And when Holmes and Peter were done, when their combined release was leaking out of Benjamin’s abused hole, I got to my knees, slowly and carefully, and sucked his pretty prick.

* * *

“How do you feel, Watson?” asked Holmes as the hansom clip-clopped back to Baker Street.

“Soft-boiled,” I replied. Indeed, my state of relaxation and peace and pliability was so complete that I hadn’t uttered a single word of protest at the blindfold. “In fact, I’m so spent that if this cab doesn’t move quickly, I’m in grave danger of falling asleep long before we ever reach our humble quarters!”

Holmes chuckled. “So, the remedy was effective?”

“Beyond reckoning.”

“Wonderful.”

“I say, Holmes?”

“Mm?”

“The, uh…” I made of necklace of my hand resting around my neck.

“Ah, yes.”

“Costume?”

“No. Though you may, one day, see one very much like it that _is_ imitation. I would strongly advise you, in such circumstance, to make every effort not hint at the truth of the matter to the lady in question.”

“Right. But, Holmes!”

“I know, Watson. I hope you don’t take offense that I had a dual purpose in our adventure tonight and that I succeeded in confirming a long-held suspicion. But know this, and this is far, far more important.”

“What?”

“Yours, my dear man,” he gave my hand a squeeze, “is a price above rubies.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
